Tom came around slowly. He picked his chin up from his chest with a faint groan.
It took several blurry eyed seconds to realize he was sitting far away from the Chamber. His robes were still covered in the mud and other grit, but the air was warm from a burning fireplace. Rather than huddling on the cold ground, he was seated in a simple chair in far from ordinary surroundings.
With a glare, his expression soured at the numerous portraits that lined the walls. Behind him, he could hear faint chiming of multiple assorted instruments. The imposing desk of the Headmaster in front of him was enough to set his lips into a tense thin line. Having found himself in this room, through various forms and memories over several decades, he has yet to recall a pleasurable experience and doubt this night would be any different.
The three wizards standing in front of the desk amidst a heated discussion only cemented that theory further. His eyes darted up and down them, weighing and measuring the dark charcoal uniforms of the first two. The third was dressed in a black uniform with white trim and embroidery. The Ministry of Magic symbol stood out as a stark contrast.
Sitting a mere few feet away from them, Tom couldn't lunge out at them even if he tried, despite feeling the twitch in his fingers. Heavy iron cladded shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles, keeping him in the chair. Even without the utter exhaustion of the energy spent earlier, he knew these were not normal restraints. Even the flicker of magic within fluttered out at his fingertips like a shell of a tickle.
The three were gathered around an object, discontent clear on their faces. Even without patting himself down, Tom knew his wand was gone. After squinting a bit further, he realized that was likely his wallet they held.
It didn't take long for them to notice his stirring. Their conversation fell short and the leader sent the other two away with a few words. He couldn't put his finger on the one with the thick Irish accent, but the other he recalled from St. Mungo's. And judging by the glare he gave as the two left, he now knew who Tom was.
"MACUSA, of course," The leader scoffed out, aggravation clear in his tone. He shook his head in disbelief. Dark unruly locks flickered on his forehead, for a moment revealing a faint scar. "That answers who opened that Floo," He tossed the wallet carelessly on the ground at Tom's feet, open to the page that he showed his identification.
Had he been feeling less wary, perhaps a smirk or goad would have responded. Instead, Tom's deadpanned expression only stared back with mild curiosity at the fact his little witch apparently chose to withhold that detail.
Perhaps the lack of reaction spurred the Head Auror on further, but Tom sensed, while the man before him was several years older than most of his shared memories, he still thinly veiled his emotions as before.
He gave it away in the tightness of his jaw, that he clenched to keep his shoulders from shaking. The same way his knuckles went white around his wand and his wrist as he held his hands in front of him, trying to appear at ease by leaning back against the edge of the Headmaster's desk. He kept the message loud and clear with the open display of his wand.
"Don't think for a moment you'll be granted any sort of diplomatic immunity," Harry tried once again to break the silence of the room. Silence save for the occasional stirring of a portrait and tick of a trinket, "Once I personally tell President Quahog the fraud you are."
At this, Tom did muster the energy to raise a calculating brow at him. "Please do," The first two words were raspier than normal. He paused to clear his throat going on in a low even tone, "I do hope to witness you making those accusations." Tom would envision how swimmingly well it would go to accuse the Americans of hiring Dark Lords.
His flippant response simply caused Harry to scowl further. His chest heaved in a slow sigh as he took a deep breath before going on, "I've known you to be many things, Voldemort, but a fool generally isn't one of them –"
"Marvolo, if you must," Tom cut him off in a tone that seemed ever tired of making that correction.
Harry stopped his train of thought, cocking his head slightly to regard Tom carefully. He found it unsettling because the man certainly was the image of the Dark Lord he had once battled. He did resemble the younger memories of Tom Riddle from the diary, but he had quite grown since then. While he had the reservation of the younger Riddle, this man seemed more worn out from time, aside from the obvious filth. His demeanor edged at Harry in a way that he couldn't quite settle on.
"Whichever one you are," Harry finally broke the staring contest between them in a calmer tone this time. For a moment trying to squint and see what Hermione described in so many letters, but he struggled. He said in a very matter of the fact manner, "The only way you're leaving this room is in those." His wand briefly pointed to the shackles on his wrists. An archaic Ministry restraint, but it got the job done, not that Tom was even making an attempt to test it.
"I don't doubt it, Potter," Tom replied evenly, glancing down briefly at his wrists, only making a mild attempt at lifting them.
Resignation. It clicked with Harry that's what he saw in him, which was a bit unnerving. He had seen anger, pain, despair, and pure violence from Voldemort and Tom Riddle, but this wasn't an emotion he had a face for until now.
"Is she alive?" Tom's voice interrupted with no attempt to hide his eagerness. "Is Hermione alive?"
Harry schooled his expression into a stony glare, snapping out quickly, "She's no longer your concern."
A flash of irritation, which sparked familiarity, pass through Tom. His eyes kept locked on Harry, burning for a legitimate answer.
Harry went on to ignore, as he was the one with the power in the room after all. "What I am concerned with is what you were doing to her in that Chamber," Harry prodded.
"To her?" Tom scrunched in honest confusion.
"To what end, I'm wondering," Harry gave the faintest shrug of his shoulders. He tried to wrap his head around it, trying to piece together what exactly happened in the Chamber. Of course he could get the answers later, but this would likely be the only time the two of them were alone. He went on, almost antagonistically, "Some sick reenactment of prior failures? Luring another Muggleborn into the Chamber? Your basilisk is long dead. What's left for you there?"
Tom said nothing, continuing to glare coldly at once Chosen One. Harry could've counted the moments off on each hand before the other wizard simply pulled his gaze away vacantly to the floor, continuing the silence.
"I'm in no hurry, Marvolo," Harry sighed out. For a moment, he checked the time on his wrist watch. "You can talk now, or you will talk later," He tried to bury smugness behind nonchalance. "Lucky for you, Horace Slughorn isn't as apt with Veritaserum as the previous Potions Master, but Neville is on his way to acquire some as we speak." Tom's eyes darting back up quickly were the only glimpse of a reaction. It caused Harry to faintly smirk before adding, "You will talk."
"Is she alive?" Tom repeated his question in the same carefully controlled manner.
"Not your concern anymore," Harry responded dismissively.
Silence resumed, glaring mostly from Tom while Harry weighed the situation, trying to understand how it happened. Horcruxes, Chamber, someone innocent getting hurt… it was all painfully familiar except for one point. "The Dementor," Harry pointed out, still trying to coax any different reaction from Tom. "That's the only piece I don't quite understand."
Why bring involve a Dementor, he wasn't entirely sure to what end, but could only imagine the endless Dark magic possibility. He went for an easy question first, "How did you get it into Hogwarts?"
The blank expressions and unresponsiveness from Tom was quickly growing wearisome. Harry found his gaze wandering towards the fireplace, wondering if time was slipping away as quickly as his patience.
"We didn't," Tom's voice surprised him with the simple admittance.
"You didn't?" Harry repeated dubiously, before adding a touch of sarcasm, "I find that hard to believe. The Headmistress is pretty adamant against allowing them on school grounds."
Tom's expressionless stare continued.
"How did you get the Dementor into Hogwarts?" Harry repeated his question more firmly with a huff betraying his annoyance.
"We didn't," Tom reaffirmed.
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes and started to think maybe he should wait for the Veritaserum after all. There were other places he needed to be than getting nowhere with him. Harry stood up from the desk, he walked around Tom to pace the room once. Fleetingly, he glanced up at some of the portraits as he went, many returning but saying nothing.
"I understand Hermione shares her research with you," Tom's voice stopped him in his tracks by the fireplace.
Harry picked his head up from gazing at the flames that held the slightest hue of green on them. The awaited guest they were expecting had to arrive. "She does," Harry answered.
"You recall her theories?" Tom didn't even turn his head in his direction, simply murmuring in a quiet voice. Harry took a few steps back towards him while he spoke with piqued interested, "About what it takes to create a Dementor?"
"Uh, sure something about not all soul fragments… are created equal," Harry struggled while he stepped around Tom's shoulder. "Some could get so torn," Harry blinked when it dawned on him, "Are you saying –"
"Indeed. Saw it myself," Tom finished smoothly.
Harry mused over it with open wonder for some time. For a bit, he allowed himself to believe the implications of that and what it meant. He could only imagine how many quills Hermione would break and ink that smudged on her face from writing on a paper on such findings.
But the thought of her, made Harry's stomach churn with trying to understand what had happened to her. He could almost see it now, her fighting against one of Voldemort's soul fragments. He tried to imagine it break into pieces before becoming a foul soulless creature. "So you, what?" Harry imagined aloud, feeling the anger burn within him at what likely happened, "She destroyed one of your horcruxes and you turned against her?"
Tom's lip curled dangerously before collecting himself and repeating once more, "Is she alive?"
"Why does it matter?!" Harry's voice rose, finally losing his patience. He shot off hotly, wanting to see something from Tom, feeling he was owed something other than this. "What, do you want to know if you finished the job?" Harry sneered on, forcing out the last word uncomfortably, "Offed another Mudblood?"
"Job?" Tom's expression began to twist again in confusion.
"Job, ritual, I don't really care what you call it!" Harry's voice began to rise. The shake in his shoulders when he was angry was beginning to return. "I want to know why I found you over her bloodied body. What were you doing?"
"Offed…" Tom repeated the word numbly as it dawned on him. The notion seemed so ridiculous to him, he had to voice it aloud slowly, "You think I was trying to kill her?"
"Weren't you?" Harry bit back harshly.
Tom's expression twisted incredulously, letting his own frustration seep through openly for the first time. His wrists tugged against the shackles, perhaps in an urge to strangle Harry or pull out his own hair. Tom blurted out bluntly, "Why in the bloody hell would I call for your help if I was trying to kill her?"
Harry's head jerked back visibly. "You didn't call for help," He denied right away.
"Yes, I did," Tom remained quite firm, dropping some of the anger to simple bluntness.
"No," Harry began shaking his head in his disbelief, "No way –"
"Who else, Potter?" Tom challenged, unsure if the Auror's reaction was more childish or irritation at this point. Tom reasoned on with sarcasm at the end, "Point me towards any other person in that Chamber. Literally any other person."
Tom's determination did give Harry pause. For a moment, he could see the gears turning in his head, but only for a second. "No," Harry's gut reaction won out. "That's impossible, you're –"
"I'm what? A Dark Lord? I couldn't possibly know a modicum of joy?" Tom cut him off with biting mockery, his eyes alight with more fire than before. He gave a harsh forced laugh that seemed grating in the suffocating office before adding on darkly, "Spare yourself, the first time it happened shocked the bloody hell out of me too."
Harry stared at him with a thoughtful frown at this point. For the first time, he hesitated to consider that Tom might be telling the truth. At the same time, he was still torn on the implications of what he was suggesting to be true. Yet, it would be such a peculiar thing to lie about it and everything in Tom's demeanor indicated he wasn't enjoying this either.
"Prove it."
Such simple words from Harry that caused Tom faltered, responding ungracefully, "Excuse me?"
Harry nodded, as if convincing himself further of the idea literally as it came to him. He leaned back against the desk once more, "I said prove it, Marvolo."
"Are you daft, perhaps clinically daft?" Tom tried to shift the conversation with mockery, not liking the direction it was beginning to turn. He added on a sourly, "I'm not a performance monkey."
Harry's eyebrow rose and he half shrugged, "Prove it."
Tom just glared back at him.
Harry didn't find it was irritating before as he slowly began to smirk, amending his thought as it came to him, "Prove it and I'll tell you what happened to Hermione."
"Bollocks," Tom called out without blinking.
"On my wand," Harry's smugness began to grow.
Green eyes danced with a mocking dare while Tom's own dark ones glared back. Tom was the first to look away with a scoff. "I debated for some time if I genuinely loathed you or simply did the idea of you because of what the others remembered," He still tried to deflect with a sneer, "but thank you for putting that debate to rest finally."
Harry found it hard to feel threatened in his position. Instead, he gave an unapologetic nod and replied back cheekily, "I'm waiting."
Tom gritted his teeth together, nostrils flaring while he took a deep breath. He looked away from Harry, feeling much too claustrophobic in the office while he weighed his options. He could do nothing and wait, but nothing good was going to happen next. That fact was written clearly before him. He wouldn't have much left after everything was said and done, pride being pretty small on the list.
Finally, he looked back up at Harry, who had openly watched him while he considered. "Do you mind?" Tom finally gave in, raising his wrists a bit to the clattering of metal. He very well couldn't cast with the shackles on.
If Harry was surprised by his cooperation, he managed to stifle it well. The thought had occurred to him that Tom may have been bluffing, but that diminished quickly with the leading gaze. Harry took half a step towards him before feeling the need to add, "It goes without say if you try anything." The threat was clear with his wand pointed at Tom.
Tom nodded briefly before replying drily, "Duly noted."
Harry gave a nod followed by a flick of his wand. The shackles fell away from Tom's wrists with a loud clatter on the ground. Immediately, Tom felt the relief of their weight not just on his arms but within. He breathed in deeply, as if the strength was returning. It was hardly fight for your life and escape type strength, but it lifted him in his chair.
He rubbed at his wrists briefly before opening his eyes again, Harry's wand still pointed accusingly at him. Doing his best to ignore it, Tom closed his eyes and clasped his hands in front of his mouth, balled together. It took several deep breaths for him to collect his thoughts and drown out the world around him. Quietly, he whispered into his hands, "Expecto Patronum."
It was nearly an impossible task for most wizards, Harry thought. He reasoned that there's no way this particular wizard could even muster a flicker. Especially since he had no wand and he had no intention of making it easier for him.
To say Harry was shocked when light escaped through the gaps of Tom's fingers was the understatement of the year. Harry's mouth gaped openly when Tom opened his hands, as if to let a fluttering butterfly escape. Except the ball of silver light grew, shimmering, until it took form and darted off.
Harry whirled on his feet to follow it about the room. Absently his wand falling to the side as the creature darted about, at one point rolling onto its back with a playful chattering. The room rose in a faint buzz of murmurings from the portraits. Amongst them was Armando Dippet clapping, "Marvelous!" Harry felt the lift in his heart as he did every time he witnessed a Patronus, but Tom just watched the creature from behind him with a longing sadness etched in his being.
While the radiating joy lifted Harry up, he always felt like a man experiencing the crushing gravity of the world for the first time. He reached for the desk for support, feeling the need to sit himself now, almost as if he'd aged a decade in a few seconds.
As the Patronus dashed past some of the former Headmaster portraits, one in particular leaned forward to look at Harry. As he frequently remembered in his youth, there was a particular twinkle in the portrait's blue eyes behind those spectacles.
"Harry, dear boy," Albus Dumbledore's voice was filled with a raspy mirth. "Wasn't Miss Granger's Patronus a –"
"An otter, yes Professor," Harry finished numbly, choosing to look up at the portrait, despite the pain in his chest from the memory of the beloved Headmaster.
The Headmaster leant back in his painting with a knowing nod, but Harry wasn't watching or listening anymore. Instead, he turned back to Tom.
Harry had to swallow back the lump in his throat to ask him one question. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to know the answer, but his mind was scattered and sickened at the same time. "Does she know?" His voice was small.
Tom's focus on the Patronus broke. He returned Harry's gaze lacking any of the anger and energy from before, exhaustion and resignation seeped back into his being. The otter stopped floating about and soon began to fade, the room dimming from its diminishing light.
"No," Tom admitted.
Harry nodded, unsure if that answer made him feel any better or worse. He was still fighting the urge to put his head between his knees. Numbly, he turned back to the portraits. His eyes passed slowly from Dippet to Dumbledore before settling on neither of them.
Truthfully, he had caught himself trying to talk to this one on a couple of occasions. It wasn't long though until he remembered the portraits weren't the actual people. They were just echoes. Like the ghosts of so many of his past.
For once, he just wanted to believe this one was real and would finally give him an answer. "And even now…" Harry fought to keep his voice even, willing the dark haired man to move, to say something, to do something other than perpetually glare at him down his beaked nose. Usually he was as still as the Muggle photos until Harry gave up and left.
"After everything, all this time. Is it still true?" He asked of him, remembering distant memories in a Pensieve.
The portrait of Severus Snape regarded him coolly before breathing out in one slow drawl, "Always."
Author's Note: Okay, who needs tissues?! I've been dying to post this chapter since I started writing this story. It was one of those scenes I couldn't shake out of my head since this all started. I hope you enjoyed it. Don't worry, we'll see Hermione next chapter. Please let me know what you think!